I know what I'm about to say might make some of you unfollow me right away.  I understand.  But I have to say this. 

I HATE PUMPKIN FLAVORED STUFF. 

There.  I said it.  It's true though.  I do not get all excited for fall and pumpkin stuff.  I hate when everyone suddenly turns every good thing pumpkin.  Coffee, creamer, ice cream, cake, pasta, dessert, candles, and every other thing on the planet.  I don't like it one bit.

I don't like apple bobbing. It is gross.  Twenty people with their mouth open, salivating in the same bucket of water.  Excuse me while I puke in the bucket.

I don't like Demi Lovatto.  I know that she is every ones hero but I don't like her.  I don't like her music.  I don't like her shows.  

I hate putting the vacuum away. I will vacuum all day but for some reason I hate putting the vacuum away.

Same goes for laundry.  I can wash and fold but I loath putting it away.

I have never read Harry Potter.  Not only that but I refuse to just on principal.  I basically refuse to read anything by JK Rowlings.  I have no reason for this it's just a long standing decision I made years ago that I intend to stick to.

I feel the same way about the Hunger Games.  I have no desire to read or watch it.

When I read 50 Shades I pictured Christian as a brunette the entire time.  He is not a red head in my mind and I sure hope he isn't in the movie.  

Febreeze smells funny to me.  I would rather use a Salt City Grapefruit Vanilla candle.  

I hate spiders, but I can never remember to buy spider killer.  NEVER.  

I cannot sleep alone. If my husband is gone I am a disaster.  If he died, or we got divorced I would be so screwed.  I would probably have to hire someone to move in with me or pay Ginger to move home and move into my house because OMG people I cannot be alone at night in the dark.

I don't like murder mysteries on TV or movies.  I prefer love stories.  I will tolerate comedy but honestly I just really really prefer romance.

Murder mysteries are not the same thing as Criminal Minds or CSI.  I like those.  I do not like those…Lifetime movies where someone kills their wife, husband, baby sitter etc.  Those scare me for a year.

I do not understand Hawaiian pizza.  Pineapple on pizza?  WHY? In the end I mostly prefer cheese pizza.  On occasion vegetarian pizza works but when it comes down to it my pizza preferences match that of my four year old. 

I REALLY REALLY REALLY HATE PUMPKIN STUFF.

Do you remember the episode of Friends when Monica spent an obscene amount of money on new boots but then when she put them on they were the most uncomfortable shoes she had ever owned?  Later in the episode she made Chandler carry her home on his back and ended up forgetting the shoes at dinner.  She never went back for them.

I'm having that same problem.  A few years ago I found the cutest slip on flats ever.  I bought them in every color.  They made it three years and finally died.  So last year I bought a new pair of black flats.  You guys they are the most painful shoes ever.  They rub just above my big toe and they are so high in back they rub my ankle and make it bleed in under an hour.  

See look how cute they are.

Here is where I become conflicted.  I know these shoes hurt me yet I keep putting them back in my closet.  I made it one hour today before my ankle looked like this.

Ouch. (Also lease note that my jeans are as always too long and end up dragging on the ground getting dirty, some day I should order jeans in short length)

So what do I do?  Do I put them back in my closet again? Do I just throw the damn things away? I only paid about $15.00 for them so it's not worth it to put them on Craigslist.  I could donate them, but I'm not sure I want to inflict this pain on anyone else.  Is it going against the universal girl code to throw away perfectly functioning shoes?  For now they are sitting by my front door.  I'm worried if I put them back in my closet another month will pass and in a hurry I will think, "ooh cute black shoes lets wear those."  Then an hour later I'll be crying like Monica.  So tell me, what's a girl to do?

For years I've never had favorites.  If you asked my favorite color I'd reply, "I dunno." Favorite artist, "no clue."  It's taken me thirty years but I have actual favorites now.  

Favorite smell: Apple.  Since high school my favorite lotion was always Bath & Body's Country Apple.  They discontinued it for about six years and then one day they brought it back for a limited time.  I bought six bottles.  The response was so good they decided to keep it available online.  I had spent years looking for a signature scent, searching perfume counters without realizing that all along I had a signature smell.  My kids even recognize it now.  On the occasion I switch it up and use some vanilla Codi will notice that I don't smell like my usual apples.  As soon as I get out of the shower and put on my lotion Codi comes running in to smell me and then smiles and runs out.  When I change scents my husband always says something is, "off."  My laundry soap is Gains Apple Mango Tango. My dish soap is apple.  My sanitizer is Bath & Body's Fresh Market Apple.  My car freshener is a Fall Harvest Apple.  After 30 years I have finally realized a favorite.

Favorite Artist: Waylon Jennings. Hands down.  No questions asked.  I don't even have to think of it.  Once about a year ago a Waylon song came on and it touched my entire soul.  I just knew in that moment that he was everything I was searching for.  Then I stumbled on his book, and the honesty in it was disarming.  I fell even harder in love.  I've watched him sing on the computer and the way he moves, the way he interviews you can feel every word he is singing, feel the love in every stroke of his guitar.  I love him so much his guitar is now tattooed on my shoulder.  I love that no matter the mood there is a song. Happy, sad, mischievous, any emotion, Waylon has a song for that. 

Band: Duh, The Highwaymen. Waylon, Willie, Johnny and Kris all in the same place.  A huge no brainer!

Movie: For years I really liked the movie Pretty Woman.  I still really like it.  Maybe even love it.  But my favorite movie? Pride and Prejudice, (Kiera Knightly version).  I don't know why but that movie just does something for me.  I can watch it for hours on end. 

Food: This is so boring but my favorite food is potatoes.  I love them boiled, mashed, fried, baked, diced, shredded, covered in stuff, plain.  It doesn't matter I just love them.  I can eat them for every meal. I could eat mashed potatoes with a side of fries and an order of baked potato in the same meal. 

I still haven't settled on a favorite color.  I lean towards blue but if my mood changes my favorite color changes.  I can't decide on a book either.  I feel like it's a book from middle school called The Wind Blows backwards, but I can't be sure because my kids ripped up my 15 year old copy of it a few years ago and I haven't found one since to re-read and double check that I still love it.  I still haven't forgiven Brandon for that. I have yet to discover a favorite animal. A favorite place. A favorite drink, dessert or ice cream flavor.  I am proud of myself though.  Finally, after all these years I've been able to nail down a few actual real live favorites.  

Tell me, what are your favorite things?

Postman left me a package.  This was right above it.  I think I'll check back tomorrow.

I've always lived my life believing you never judge a book by it's cover.  At the book store I've been known to pick up every single book and read the summary regardless of what the cover looks like.  That's why I get so bothered when people openly judge me because of my tattoos. I find it strange.  I don't judge you by the art you hang on your wall, who are you to judge me by the art I hang on my body?  Lately I've been talking to more and more of the parents at my sons school.  I've been making an effort to really get to know people and put myself out there.  What I learned shocked me. Quite a lot of moms have admitted that they were afraid to speak to me three years ago on the kindergarten playground because of my tattoos (and pink hair).  Some said they thought I would be mean, or scary and some said they just thought I must have been a bad person.  Then after spending time with them most of them are more shocked to learn I'm really a giant teddy bear who is actually quite nice. 

A few weeks ago I approached a dad at the school who had both arms covered in tattoos.  We talked about who did his work and became friends from then on.  Later he told me that the year before none of the parents would talk to him, and that some even moved away from him and gave him dirty looks because of his tattoos.  He said this continued for months until one day during parent work week he came to school in his fireman gear.  Suddenly all of the parents wanted to talk to him.  The moms began flirting and the dads began to slap him on the back and call him friend.  He was pissed.  How dare they suddenly deem him okay because of his profession.  He never became friends with any of those parents.  I laughed because I didn't even know he was a fireman I just liked him because he had a nice personality and some cool tattoos.  His wife is Indian and she said people would come up to her asking her if she was a "dot or feather" Indian.  I couldn't believe people would do that.  We have all hung out now and become friends.  I find it sad to know that a lot of moms are missing out on that friendship because they are afraid of his tattoos. 

I've seen this circulating Facebook lately and my emotions are a mix of anger and humor.

I am mad that something like this would be created to begin with.  I find it funny though because it couldn't be MORE WRONG.  I have a tattoo on my neck.  I guess this means I have been, or am in prison.  I have one on both of my feet.  I am still looking for my princess accessory.  I have one in the caution area that even after two babies and a lot of weight gain is still cute, and still makes my husband giggle when we get frisky.  I have one on my forearm which is confusing because I not only have one job, but I have two jobs.  One of which is catering to very high end people.  In the two years I've been catering I have had exactly ONE person make a negative remark on my tattoo.  My boss shut that lady down immediately asking her if she enjoyed her food.  When the lady raved on and on about her food, and the amazing desserts my boss let her know that the girl with the tattoo had made them.  The lady quickly apologized and told my boss to tell me how wonderful I did.  In fact, at 90% of the caterings I do I get stopped by at least one person to comment on my beautiful tattoos. I have a tattoo on my back.  There are no dragons, there are no wings and none of it is faggy or lame.  In fact the tattoo I most often get stopped on is the family tree on my back.  Often as I'm wandering Target or the store little old women will come up, touch my back (odd) and tell me how lovely the tree on my back is.  I love it.  I love it the most because it is little old women who are supposed to hate my tattoos.  But so far the vast majority of comments come from them.  I have a tattoo on my lower back and they are wrong, buying me a drink will not work.  I am happily married and would never stray.  I resent the thought that a tattoo in a certain location would be deemed acceptable to buy me a drink and expect something from me.

I am a nice girl.  I work hard.  I'm a pretty good mom and I am a wonderful wife.  I also happen to have a lot of visible tattoos.  I have never committed a crime.  I did well in school.  I believe in God.  My tattoos all have meaning.  They are mostly dedicated to the people I love the most in my life.  It makes me sad to think I might be judged because of that.  It feels like tattoos are the new skin color.  It is no longer socially acceptable to judge a person by their skin color so now we will judge them on their tattoos.  It's as if the world just needs something to judge, something to segregate, something to hate.  I'm sure with the rate of tattoos increasing they will soon be more socially acceptable and I can't help but wonder, when that happens what will we find to hate each other for next?  

If you see me on the streets and my tattoos are showing, please don't be afraid of me.  You should know I am shy, I'm probably more afraid of you then you are of me.  I'm awkward and nervous and even without the tattoos I'm worried about impressing you.  If you see me on the playground, say hi to me.  Strike up a conversation with me.  You might learn that I'm secretly kind of funny, I read often, I'm a great cook, I'm kind of a dork, oh, and I have a few tattoos.  

I think it's important to remember that old saying your parents taught you, "don't judge a book by it's cover."  

 

**Please excuse any spelling or punctuation errors, I've lost my glasses again so all of these words are blurring together into one.  I hit spell check but I can't really read what it's suggesting so I just guessed and hit publish.  I'm off to see where my dog buried my glasses this time.

For those of you who follow this blog you know I somehow ended up being the dugout mom last year.  You also know that by the end of the season I was praying to the vodka Gods to please send help.

It's a new season.

They gave me 14 kids this season.

FOURTEEN. 

That is five more then last year.

After two games I can say this much.

I need something much stronger then vodka.

Parents really don't care how big of an asshole their kid is.

49 is the number of times I can tell ONE child to sit down before I give in and talk to their father.

Their father won't care.

Send help.

Will follow up with more horror stories because this season is very very interesting.

So interesting the coach offered to put vodka in a water bottle just for me.

His wife offered to bring me Jello shots.

That's pretty bad, when the coach is offering to bring me alcohol because even he feels bad for me.

I'm off to another game…

A few months ago I got a new iPhone.  My old one was working fine it just wasn't loud enough for me unless it was on speaker phone.  It couldn't be fixed because I had actually melted a Hershey kiss into the ear piece and Apple kindly told me that kind of damage isn't covered since you know…IT WAS MY FAULT.

I ended up mailing the phone to a friend to use basically like an iPod touch.  She wanted to read 50 Shades of Grey and I had already downloaded it plus a few other books so I sent her the phone with a full library.

Since then I've been reading lots of books.  I've been having book ADD.  Nothing seems to hold my interest for long anymore so I've found myself downloading things, reading five pages and moving on.  People have been sending me suggestions and I generally end up downloading them.  Some of them are a little bit more racy then 50 Shades.  Some of the books have some pretty interesting covers.  I figured it wasn't an issue because they were on my iPad and no one could see them.  If they got to racy I just stopped reading them. 

Then about two weeks ago the friend wrote me and asked me to download an ap for her.  I was confused and asked if she had set up her own account.  She said that she hadn't because she was worried if she deleted my account it would erase all of my stuff from my own phone.  I was a little confused and then she mentioned that every ap I download auto downloaded to her phone.  Then I realized that meant every book I downloaded was also auto downloading.

Shit.

Luckily this friend has a sense of humor and also knows that what kind of books I read and what kind of person I am, so it wasn't a complete shock to her when a book image of a half naked girl with nothing but lacy stockings appeared in her library.  I had to laugh.  I felt kind of bad for her, because I could tell she probably didn't want to tell me about it.  I can't even imagine though what would have happened if I had chosen a different kind of friend to send the phone to.  A reserved friend, or a prude, or a younger friend.  I'm just thankful I hadn't downloaded some of those really really bad BDSM books that people have been reading since 50 shades.  I would post a couple of the free books I had downloaded on here just so you could see the images poor Jess had to see when she opened her phone…but I'm afraid of what kind of spam comments I will get from it.

Either way, I explained to her that she could put her own account in and she wouldn't lose the books she was reading and nothing would be deleted from my account.

I'm pretty sure said friend is thrilled that she will no longer open her iPod (phone) and have to see just what exactly Shannon is reading today.

He he.  Oops.  I guess nothing is really safe anymore is it.  

Sorry Jess!

Tomorrow my husband and I celebrate 8 year of marriage. The traditional gift for that is bronze or pottery. Pottery made me think of porcelain which reminded me of toilets which made me think…is 8 years around the time you start peeing with the door open? Or is that closer to 15 years?

Friday I ran to get a quick lunch.  On my way CVS called and told me my prescription was ready.  I stopped in and realized I had to pee.  The bathroom was occupied for what seemed like eternity so I gave up and decided to wait until I got my lunch.  I made it to Quiznos and by then I realllly had to pee so I just rushed straight to the bathroom.  I went to hang my purse and there was no hook.  I wanted to set it down but the only place to set it was the wet sink.  I'll never understand why places don't put a hook in womens bathrooms.  Do they expect me to hold my purse, unbutton my pants, wipe, and button back up one handed?  So I hooked it on the door handle and went about my business.  Suddenly someone knocked on the door and without even giving me two full second to answer they opened the bathroom door.  There I was sitting on a toilet, pants down, panties showing, ON A TOILET and some woman walked in on me.  I shouted at her to leave and she did.  That is when I noticed that my purse had slipped off the door and slid down the handle managing to unlock and open the door.  So even though the lady should have given me a second to respond that the bathroom was in use, in essence my purse had left me wide open and bared for everyone to see. 

This was a normal restroom not a stall so there was no where I could have hung a portable hook either.  I finished up and walked out and noticed that there was no one waiting by the bathroom. I have a feeling the lady was just as mortified about walking in on me as I was about being walked in on so she must have just went to sit down and try to hide.

What am I supposed to do next time this happens?  I mean the only good thing is at least I had cute undies on and not some horrific grannie panties wrapped around my knees right?

Last night I wanted a good nights sleep so I took the full dose of Xannax.  I was sleeping so good.  Then at 3am my husband wakes me up to tell me the power is out.

I should take this time to tell you that from 9pm to 1am I am fine and functional.  If you wake me up after 1am my God have mercy on your soul.  If you are my child I will still get mad at you.  I don't care who it is I will be angry.  I will be mean, stompy and short fused.  It's not pretty.

So when he tells me that the fucking power is out I wanted to smash his face in.  Did he have to tell me this?  Could I not have lived without knowing the power was out?  I was livid.

But then I heard the beep.

Or was it a chirp.

I don't know what it was but it was really,  really, really, really, damn annoying.  I call the power company who tells me there is no outage in the area.  My husband decides to go outside and check the breakers.  I listen to the beeping for about 45 seconds before coming homicidal.  So I go downstairs and discover the beeping coming from the alarm panel.  I get to the panel and the beep comes again, FROM UPSTAIRS.  So I run upstairs and I hear the fire alarm beep.  But then I hear it again and it's downstairs.  I run downstairs and freeze in the middle of the area and hear the beep again.  It's for sure the alarm panel.  So I run back over and the upstairs beeps.  I run back upstairs and I have no fucking idea what is beeping now.  I go to all of the fire alarms upstairs and listen for beeping.  Then Brandon starts moving so I shut the kids doors and hear the beep again and its for sure down stairs.  Down I go.  

It wasn't down stairs. 

So I run upstairs again.

It wasn't upstairs.

Finally I give up and sit on the couch seething mad.  It's 3 in the morning, shit is beeping, my husbands outside, oh and did I mention he left me with a gun.  So the whole time I'm running up and down the stairs I'm trying not to shoot my foot off. Finally he comes back in and tells me that none of the breakers are tripped. I call the power company back and they ask me if I'm near "Jetson." 

What the fuck is a Jetson????

I tell them I live on a private road and I don't know what a damn Jetson is and can they just figure it out.  The guy curtly tells me they will head out.  

MORE BEEPING

I call the alarm company.

It was the wrong number.

I call the right number.

Push one

Push five

Push three

Push one

Thank God no one was breaking into my house right now or I would die pushing fucking buttons.

Finally I get a human who tells me that it is the alarm panel and just to shut off my alarm.

So I shut it off. 

BEEP

So then he says, "it must be your fire alarm, you need to get your fire alarm off the ceiling and change the battery."  I ask if that is going to set the alarm off?  He tells me it will but that maybe I could find a paper clip and push a little reset button.

It's 3am and you want me to find a paper clip.  A fucking paper clip.

Seconds before I bite the guys head of my husband says, "wait!" He pulls out the little table below the alarm panel and grabs our carbon monoxide detector.

BEEP

My husband had found the beep.  I was thrilled.  But now what.  It needed batteries.  So he's sitting there on the floor calmly trying to take the battery cover off and I'm getting pissed.  This thing is still beeping and he's handling it like a fucking newborn.  I wanted to smash it into the ground.  He finally gets it off and takes out the battery.  

It keeps beeping.

I swear I saw red at that moment.

He leaves me alone with the gun and the beeping machine to find a battery.  I looked from one hand to the other, back and forth, and then he came in with a battery.  

I might have pouted a little. 

He puts the battery in and BEEP.

I think my head started spinning.

But then, it stopped.  The beeping stopped.  He plugged it back into the wall, looked over and told me to go back to bed.  

Fool didn't have to tell me twice.  I stomped up the stairs, put away his gun, crammed my ear plugs in and went back to bed.

But this morning you can bet your ass I gave that carbon monoxide detector the stink eye.